Punishment
by Lanhar
Summary: No good deed goes unpunished. Mark has found his song. And as his life draws to a close, he finaly understands....


**AN: Don't own the song, the theater, or the characters in RENT. I also don't own Star Wars, that table I bid on at EBAY or a Masters Degree, thought the last I am working on. Enjoy… reviews would be fantastic and spur me on to better writing as well as lift my end of terms finals spirits. **

**Also if anyone would like to beta for me, that would be awesome, so baring that, forgive my poor grammar and spelling… you can point it out for me to fix, but being dyslexia leads to me not getting all my mistakes corrected alone! **

It took years, year of tears and pain and heartbreak, but sitting in that theater Mark Cohen found his theme song, found his last refrain for his last film. For the last boho boy's life.

_No good deed goes unpunished, _

_No act of charity goes unresented…._

Mark remembers the day it started, remembers the boxed he moved, remembered the flash of red hair.

Meeting April, then Roger and Maureen, and Collins.

Meeting Angel and Mimi and the riot. That one act, that one fucking act of filming the riot. One punch from one cop as he pulled the homeless man free, and he was doomed. Well he thought, no he was doomed before that, but it did seal his fate.

One good deed led to his hospital stay and the injury to his eyes that ended with the loss of sight in his left eye. Might have healed if he went in that night, but he waited a few days so no one would know he went. But he never said anything about it. Just joked and said he got the bruise in the fight. Lost his eye for that act of charity. Lost his eyes sight and no one knew. The partially blind filmmaker….

The next, the next time it was Halloween, helping to carry the coffin, none of them were strong enough to move themselves half the time, let alone a coffin. Too little food, too little heat, too little joy, too little muscle apparently. But that sprained shoulder joint led to the nerve damage that left his right arm slightly numb all the time. He never mentioned that either. Just used his left arm to hold the camera to his right eye and kept filming. His problems were not that great.

And then, he lost them all. One by one Mimi, Collins, and Roger, all gone within the spread of three years after Angel. Three years and all he had after withdrawal, twice, and hospital visits, sacrificed food for AZT, all he had was his empty loft and his films, old broken guitar and collection of books.

No it seemed, good deeds only got him hurt. Even comforting Maureen one night after a bad fight with Joanne had cost him both their friendships as well when she got pregnant from their drunken one night stand. He lost his last friends and possibly his only child.

He kept filming, kept telling the tales of those who were down trodden, and in the end he had cancer. He had fucking brain cancer, something they claim may have been caused by all the times he was knocked unconscious during muggings, riots and withdrawal episodes.

Fuck.

Mark Cohen was done with being nice, he was done with helping others. He had three months tops. Three months he never wanted in the first place. He had wanted to let go for the last seven years. Wanted to give in to the darkness that had claimed his only real purpose. He lived out of guilt for their inability and in the end even that was killing him.

He resented that fact that made him promise to push on, he hated them for making his say he would live out their dreams, and died inside that he couldn't say no, even after they were gone. Because Mark knew, he was a sucker for a friends smile, a sucker for a pouty face. And he knew he would never go back on his word. And so he had lived their dreams, but only their dreams.

This wasn't his fucking dream, this theater he worked in, this building he owned, these songs they sang. That charities, the movies even were not his.

None of it.

It sucked.

It fucking sucked that he was here and they weren't and none of it was right, and it all fucking started when he took that goddamned girls hand and helped her move her things into her boyfriends loft.

All started with April and her smile and her wink, and then Roger and his band, and Benny with his money deals, Collins and his laughter, Maureen with her pout and Angel, Angel with her grace.

See it wasn't just that Christmas, no Mark had always been the good little boy that helped everyone out. Mark had helped Benny at Brown, that's why he was over when April moved in. That's how he helped her move, that's how he first strained his back. And then he got sucked into the band, and first got high, and first got arrested.

And meet Maureen and then and then….

He looked at the row of tombstones in the cemetery, tracing his normal pattern around them all. He looked at what was left on them, what he was finally leaving behind.

April had an article, framed and waterproofed, attached to her tombstone that read about the opening of the April Shower's drug rehabilitation center, for the Villager area. Few knew that he had been that close with the rockers girlfriend. He knew her dreams, and he found the letter she left him before she died. Her letter apologizing for what she was about to do. This was the one he promised first, the one he was happiest to accomplish.

He moved to Angel's, he had left her the notice of the opening of her clothing gallery. All proceeds to go to the Life Support group so they could continue meeting, though now they had home in Mark's theater. He owned it, he could let whomever he wanted to use it.

And then to Collins, next to his Angel. Collins had a book, his book, his exploits and theories all bound together and published. All proceeds from that went to fighting AIDS, his charity called ACT UP. There was an article on that as well.

Mimi and Roger were a few steps away, down the row a bit. Mimi's grave also sported an article, this time on the new efforts to enforce the age limit on female dancers, and new efforts for drug checks to keep them clean and healthy. The new laws were named for her, the Mimi acts. He smiled as he looked at her.

Roger, the hardest of all in some ways. Roger had an album resting on his tomb. An album that Mark had worked on, labored over and worked to get finished for five years after his friends death. It took that long to work clips together, and get the background noise cleared out. But finally the story was told, in music by Roger's own making.

The sound track to Today 4U.

Mark left the cemetery for the last time, whispering "I will see you all soon" as he made his way to a posh uptown apartment for one last errand.

_No good deed goes unpunished……_

Mark knew this was punishment for all those deeds, but a part of him wondered if it was just exactly what he was looking for. Maybe this was his payment, he got to die too, his immune system just as compromised, just as broken. All their dreams fulfilled as he could make them, and now he would die and go home, his only dream at this point.

And if he was dying he would do it his way, surrounded by his friends. So as his theater flourished and his show progressed, he sank into old film reels, and began cutting together several rolls of film. And then he wrote a letter. He knew where Maureen was, it was hard not to, she technically worked for him in his show, though they never spoke. And rarely if ever saw each other.

He watched rehearsals from the balcony where he was hidden in shadows. Where she wouldn't see his thinning hair, his sunken eyes. His skinny boney body. Even more a scrawny Jewish white boy at the end than he had been when they were dating.

He wrote her a letter, and he took it to her apartment one evening. He knocked, and she began to slam the door at him. He didn't speak only held out the letter, maybe his face, maybe his bald head, maybe old times, but something stayed the door long enough for her to snatch the letter and watch him turn to leave. No words spoken. But that was all he wanted, she had the letter, that's all that mattered. The last closed door at his life.

She had the letter and it was time to go. He had seen enough friends die to know the look. Know the time. And so with a good supply of pain medication and his things set he trudge one last time up the stairs to the loft. Opened that door one last time to find the equipment had paid to be brought up. He set up an old white sheet on the wall and moved the couch to look at it as he lay there. He set the extra reels of film down next to the couch, he pulled on his old scarf, held a book of poems and guitar near him and pushed play. If he was going to die, his friends would be with him, one way or another.

And so Mark Cohen passed from the world. A looped reel of film playing as he watched smiling faces on the screen before him, so high on pain medication that he felt nothing as his eyes at slid closed that one last time, and his breathing stilled.

The next morning, after a long talk with Joanne, Maureen opened the envelope that Mark had given to her. Their daughter asleep in her room, and Joanne next to her on the couch.

Inside the envelope was a large legal document, the outside read The Last Will and Testament of Mark Cohen.

And a small hand written letter was laid over this.

_Maureen and Joanne ( I know your both reading this)_

_I can not say I am sorry any more, and so I won't. This is simply to say goodbye. I was diagnosed three months ago with inoperable brain cancer. I will not undergo any treatment. I don't want to, I have nothing left. I have lived my life for others, and all I have for myself are old rolls of film and an empty apartment to call my home. I am going home, and I will be with family again, should that be my reward. _

_The song is right Maureen, your song, its my song. My good deeds, this is all I have._

_I have had enough resentment for my good deeds, and I am done. I have watched too many friends die to kid myself. By the time you agree to open this I will have passed. And so this is my final goodbye. _

_I tell you this so that should your child be part mine, they will know their medical history to my last breath. And also so that you know, in a memory to our deep roots and our past that I shall always cherish. _

_I will tell everyone you say hello, though I suspect they already know you miss them. _

_I am leaving all my assets to you, and your daughter, whether she is mine or not. I have no one else, and you, all three of you, will always be my family._

_The ownership of the theater, with only the request you let Life Support continue to meet for free, I don't care about cost of opening the building early for them. They need a home. History, their memories deserve that much._

_I ask that the charities remain set up, they should be self perpetuating for a time. Though your ingenuity at money raising events will help them later on. To you and Joanne I leave the rights to the songs and Today 4U, so that they are never lost or misused. _

_It is all layed out in my will. _

_I would have used you Joanne, but I know my limits, and I know the boundaries._

_Tell Benny to check the building before they demolish it. He might find something of value inside. _

_Yours always; _

_Marky._

Maureen was weeping, Joanne was shocked to silence, and then bolted for the phone, dialing Benny.

Benny found the projector still playing, faces and places from a past he barely remembered. He found the roll of film marked, My funeral. And he found Mark, a vague smile on his face, hands clutching the guitar, books, and scarf. The one to survive had passed at last.

_No good deed goes unpunished. _

But maybe the punishment was seen as a reward.

Mark opened his eyes to Roger smirking above him.

"Took you long enough Mark, come on everyone is waiting for you." Roger pulled him into the light, and finally he could rest. Finally he was home. He knew he would be there for Joanne as she passed, and she in turn would meet Maureen who would in turn meet Benny, who would far outlive them all. And then they would be together again, in a loft that always had heat, where there was always beer and wine, and always music.

Yes, no good deed goes unpunished, but sometimes the punishment is perfect.


End file.
